


Niceties

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [118]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: The Canucks apparently have a whole welcome wagon thing going, which is nice. Man, he sounds like his grandma right now, all faint ‘that’s nice’ because he doesn’t know what else to say. Itisnice. He just doesn’t know how he feels about it, how he feels about anything.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [118]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/849798
Comments: 45
Kudos: 346





	Niceties

Jared calls Bryce back, and manages not to cry on the phone. He packs with the help of an even quieter than usual Julius. He calls his mom, and promises he’ll talk to his dad tomorrow, because he can’t yet, he knows his dad being furious on his behalf is going to be just — too much. 

He’s got a text from a 604 number when he gets off the phone. _Hey, welcome to the Canucks! This is Gabe Markson. I’m probably your new centre. Sorry about the downgrade. Let me know if there’s anything you need. Whether that’s a ride from the airport or help finding a place, we got you._

It’s nice, especially since Jared’s used to being basically the only person he knows who uses proper capitalisation and punctuation in his texts, with the exception of Raf and Grace. Gets him right back on the edge of tears again, which is not a fun place to be. He sends a thank you and saves the number in his phone, and then he’s got another message from a 604 number.

 _hi new teammate!_ it says, followed by a slew of hockey related emojis and four blue whales. Jared guesses there aren’t any orcas.

Jared sends back a hi. The Canucks apparently have a whole welcome wagon thing going, which is nice. Man, he sounds like his grandma right now, all faint ‘that’s nice’ because he doesn’t know what else to say. It _is_ nice. He just doesn’t know how he feels about it, how he feels about anything. 

Greg’s got him on a flight first thing tomorrow, and someone from the Canucks front office has emailed him booking information for a hotel, asking all chirpy if he’s free to meet with HR tomorrow afternoon, like it’s an offer and not an order. It’s logistics he doesn’t have to figure out, at least. Plane ticket’s in his email, booking info, he’s expected for a certain time. He’s fully packed, suitcase and suit bag and and equipment bag at the door, and there’s nothing he could have forgotten that he can’t replace; he’s moving one province west, not going to fucking Antarctica. Julius has a key to his place, and so does Bryce, and his lease is paid through to the offseason. It’s all taken care of.

Julius has recovered from trauma induced hugginess — when he heads out that night it’s with a simple nod and ‘see you soon’. Which is true: the Oilers are in Vancouver in less than two weeks. Jared’s gotten a bunch of texts from Oiler teammates he doesn’t have the energy to answer, figures he will when he’s killing time at the airport. He’s already got a town car booked to pick him up at the ass crack of dawn, also courtesy of Greg. 

“Can’t sleep?” Bryce asks sympathetically when Jared calls him at two in the morning.

“No,” Jared says. “You either?” Bryce doesn’t sound groggy or anything, so it’s a safe bet.

“Having some trouble,” Bryce says.

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“I can’t believe my mom gets to see you tomorrow and I don’t,” Bryce complains.

“We’re going to talk shit about you behind your back,” Jared says.

“Pft,” Bryce says, with the certainty of a man who knows his mother would never, even though his husband totally would.

“I’m going to have to tell them about us,” Jared says. “If they don’t already know.”

“I know,” Bryce says, then, “Like, you mean front office, right, not like—”

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“Yeah, I know,” Bryce says. “Hopefully he’s not a douche about it?”

“Hopefully,” Jared says.

*

Jared’s unsurprisingly groggy as hell the next morning — he didn’t get off the phone with Bryce until around three, when Bryce audibly started to fade, didn’t fall asleep right after either. It’s dark when he gets to the airport, might still be dark when he leaves the airport in Vancouver, the flight barely longer than the time difference. At least he’s only going back an hour, not two ahead. He’s found during roadies that one’s easier than the other.

He checks his bags, tries not to wince at how much the excess baggage fees are — still cheaper than like, mailing his shit out, and obviously faster. He grabs a smoothie at Booster Juice, can just see Raf’s judgmental eyes, since it’s like, okay, only a smoothie in the loosest sense — chocolate almond milk and banana and frozen yogurt, a vaguely more socially acceptable milkshake for breakfast. Whatever. He deserves it.

He has just enough time to finish it, grab a coffee for the plane before they’re boarding. He’s finishing the coffee when they’re above the Rockies, spikes of rock jutting out piecemeal above the clouds, and cursing himself for going for a milkshake instead of food for breakfast when they get cell service back, because he doesn’t have time to get food at the airport before he’s getting picked up, a text with _I’ll be there in twenty._ waiting for him, and baggage still to claim.

Elaine isn’t meeting him, because Markson offered a second time to pick him up from the airport, and Jared took him up on the offer, trying to make good on that whole ‘I’ll be more social with my teammates on the next team’ resolution he made when he asked for a trade. He’s going to be Jared’s linemate too, so that’s probably extra important, chemistry building and stuff. 

And it’d have been hard to turn down, anyway. What could he say, “No worries, my mother-in-law has it.”? Well, that’s not that weird, but it’s opening things up a bit, just asking for questions about his ‘wife’. But he doesn’t want to lie and call Elaine his aunt or a family friend or something, or lie and say he’d just take a cab. Jared’s kind of figured out the standard of lying about his and Bryce’s marriage is that lying by omission: cool and also often necessary. Lying by lying? Not okay.

Jared wonders if the Canucks front office already know he’s married, who he’s married to. Wonders if Boston knows, if that’s why they traded him as soon as they got him. He doesn’t want to think about it. He’s not going to think about it. There’s enough to deal with right now. Bags first. Then finding Markson’s car. Then the hotel. Then the meeting with Canucks front office. Then dinner with Elaine. One thing at a time.

His bags come out quick, thankfully, because Markson’s already texted to say he’s there by the time the baggage wheel starts turning. He gets out when he sees Jared, helps him pile his bags in the trunk, the backseat. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Jared says. “You didn’t have to.”

Markson waves a dismissive hand. “Small price to pay for playing with you instead of against you. Your line was a pain in the ass.”

“That’s mostly Halla,” Jared says. “I don’t how much credit I can take.”

Markson laughs. “Still happy to have you. We’ve been really messed up on the right side all season, our line’s basically been a revolving door. It’ll be nice to finally have some stability.”

“I think you just jinxed me to get injured like, my first practice,” Jared says.

“Please don’t, our LTIR is literally just a list of all my former linemates right now,” Markson says.

“Maybe you’re cursed,” Jared says. 

“That’s what Dima says,” Markson says. “Dmitry Kurmazov, your other future liney. If anyone’s cursed our line it’s him, and he’s just trying to throw the blame on me. And sorry about whatever he texted you.”

Well, that solves that minor mystery. Jared thought it was like, a rookie or something, but no, apparently it was a dude who’s like — he’s got to be old, Jared remembers him being on the Canucks from the time he was like, ten. Markson too, not like, from the age of ten, but probably at least thirteen or fourteen. It’s going to be weird, going from a line with Julius to two veterans. Kind of extra pressure, especially since they’ve played together forever. He’s going to be the linemate equivalent of a third wheel.

“It was — fine?” Jared says. “Just like, hi and some emojis.”

“Huh,” Markson says. 

“Huh?” Jared asks.

“That’s incredibly tame for him,” Markson says.

Well. That’s vaguely ominous.

Markson drops him off at the hotel, the same Fairmont the Oilers stay at when they’re in town. He insists on helping Jared with his bags, and between the two of them it’s quick work, express check-in and an elevator ride with Markson — Jared would rather him help than an employee, honestly, he always feels faintly weird about it, like they think he thinks he’s too good to carry his own stuff. His room’s at the very end of the hall, which means it’ll be quiet, at least. A single, a big king in the middle, which is weird for him, used to sharing a room on the road. He probably still will, get paired with some other guy on his ELC. Live with a complete stranger. That’s a fun thing to look forward to.

“You want to have dinner with me and Dmitry tonight?” Markson asks. “Little liney thing?”

“Sure,” Jared says, but his face must do something, or he must have said it wrong, because Markson says, “Nah, you’re probably wiped, eh? We’ll do it after you settle in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Thanks.”

“See you at practice tomorrow,” Markson says with a departing clap to Jared’s shoulder, and then it’s just Jared in a hotel room that looks, well — it’s a hotel room. A very nice hotel room, but a hotel room.

He sits down on the bed. He should unpack now, he’s got time before his meeting. Or take a short nap, he’s got time for that too. He pulls out his phone, finally texts back all the Oilers who sent him messages yesterday, because if he doesn’t do it today he won’t at all, and that’s rude. Texts back Chaz and Ash, Grace and Raf. Raf says Oleg Kurmazov tells him not to take anything his brother says seriously, and between that and Markson’s surprise at how tame the text Jared got is, he’s getting a faintly terrifying picture of what to expect. If he got away from Jacobi just to play on a line with another Jacobi, he swears —

That seems like the kind of thing the hockey gods would do. Not that Jared believes in them in a non-joking way, but the irony of Bryce and Jared swapping hometown teams feels exactly like something those non-existent hockey gods would do.

Jared hits the point of badly needing a nap right when it’s too late for one, goes to have a late breakfast instead. He walks it to the meeting — it’s a warm day, at least compared to Edmonton, cloudy but not raining. Bonus of moving to Vancouver — he didn’t bother to pack his parka or his winter boots. Waterproof windbreaker, absolutely. Bryce checked to make sure twice. An umbrella, even though Bryce scoffed a dismissive ‘no one uses umbrellas in Vancouver, it’ll make you look like a tourist’. Jared cares considerably more about staying dry than keeping up appearances.

The meeting’s about what he expected: he fills out forms, signs a bunch of contracts. Tries not to make it too obvious when he pauses over ‘spouse’ on an insurance plan form. It’s not like Bryce actually _needs_ to be on Jared’s insurance. He has perfectly good insurance himself. But writing nothing is pushing right past omission into lying territory. Plus Jared’s pretty sure HR can’t like, run to Foster and go ‘Jared Matheson’s married to the enemy!’, and neither can the insurance company. That’s got to be a violation of confidentiality or something. And Jared is planning on letting front office know as soon as possible anyway.

Jared writes ‘Bryce Marcus’, and, in case there was any doubt it’s just a weird name doppelganger, Bryce’s date of birth probably cancels that out.

It’s not like the Canucks can trade him until the season’s over anyway. He puts that form in between all the other ones though. Just like. In case.

He’s hit full on fading by the time he’s freed — Foster’s out of the office, Jared scheduled to meet him after practice tomorrow, so at least he doesn’t have to do that fun conversation while seriously sleep deprived. All he wants to do is sleep, but it’s too early, would fuck up his schedule, and he has plans with Elaine. Elaine, who he has a missed call from, a cheerful voicemail telling him to let her know when he’s free, that her schedule’s wide open. Just listening to her voice has something inside him crack. He’s totally going to cry on her shoulder, isn’t he.

He calls her back as he walks — raining now, but it’s just a misty drizzle, so he’s not going to bother getting a cab.

“Hi honey,” Elaine says warmly when she picks up, and the crack gets a little wider. “How were your meetings? Bryce said you were going to tell your GM?”

“I have a meeting with him tomorrow,” Jared says. “Just signed a bunch of forms and stuff.”

“Did you want to come over for dinner?” Elaine says, then, “I figured you’d prefer that to eating out somewhere. Never mind, you don’t have a car, do you? What hotel are you staying at? I’ll pick you up.”

Jared protests, but pretty weakly, because Elaine’s right — Elaine’s place is worlds better than eating out somewhere. She’s already downtown, picks him up right as he gets back to his hotel, and he sinks gratefully into the passenger seat, Elaine chattering about all the good places around they can visit at once he’s settled in, lulled by her voice as much as the rain on the windows, trying to fight sleep. It’s rude to drift off in the middle of someone talking to you.

“We’re home,” Elaine says, gently shaking his shoulder, so Jared guesses he was rude. She doesn’t seem offended, at least. “Why don’t you take a nap? Sheets are clean in Bryce’s room.”

“I’m okay,” Jared mumbles.

“Take a nap,” she says more firmly, and Jared meekly obeys, wakes up, feeling moderately more human, to a soft knock on the door, the smell of food. Which — no wonder, because there must be a hundred bucks worth of Chinese food on the coffee table in the living room.

“The leftovers are the best part,” Elaine says serenely when Jared questions her judgment on portion size. “Just pick whatever you like.”

What Jared apparently would like, is everything. Elaine may have made a good call, because he’s famished.

“You’re welcome to stay with me while you look for a place of your own,” Elaine says after dinner. It’s amazing that Jared is actually sitting up right now. He’s afraid if he goes even a little horizontal he’ll sack out on the couch until tomorrow. “Well, I didn’t say that right. I will be very offended if you don’t stay with me. I know it’s a bit farther out from the rink, but it’s nice and close to the airport and—”

“I’d love to,” Jared says honestly. It’s overwhelming enough without the added disconnect of living at home the same way he does on the road. He knows Elaine’s place. Can sleep in Bryce’s room. A little piece of home in Vancouver until he finds one of his own. 

“If you want to stay here tonight, Bear has clothes in the drawers that will fit you well enough,” Elaine says. “I can drive you back to the hotel before practice in the morning.”

Jared thinks about the drive back downtown, the wide king bed. “Please,” he says. 

Jared stacks the leftovers in the fridge while Elaine gets herself glass of wine — he realises that she waited to make sure she didn’t have to drive him back to the hotel first — disappears into the living room when her phone rings. He’s not surprised when she hands it to him, tucks it to his ear.

“How jealous are you right now?” Jared says.

“I want to be there too,” Bryce complains.

“We had Chinese,” Jared says. “I’m sleeping over.”

“Stop rubbing it in,” Bryce says. 

“Your mom’s gonna like me better than you by the end of this,” Jared says. 

“Pft,” Bryce says, again with confidence, because it’s pretty clear that no one will ever overtake Bryce in Elaine Marcus’ eyes. “It went okay today? Everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s okay,” Jared says. Not good, not right now. But he supposes okay will have to do.


End file.
